


Preparation

by mammal



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-01
Updated: 2011-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mammal/pseuds/mammal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles hopes Erik will come back to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Preparation

In the Village, he managed to shed his fond but overprotective retinue by claiming that people-watching was all he wanted to do, but that they should go have some fun and meet him at seven, for dinner. He told each of them -- silently -- to watch out for one or more of the others, whom he intimated were not quite as mature (or bold, or cautious, or city-wise), and in this way set all of them on their best behavior without even a "nudge."  
Once the children had gone -- and were they really still children, he wondered? Several were nearly his age, and Hank was certainly his intellectual peer. But he felt so _old,_ any more. Ever since... well, just older, in any case. Sighing, he chose a likely coffeehouse, and wheeled his way to a corner table to nurse a (surprisingly good) milky tea.  
He hadn't lied, except by omission. He really was people-watching -- but for a specific purpose. Starting with the comely barista and a select few of what seemed to be her regular customers, he gently probed for the relevant information. When a sufficient number of interestingly adorned persons all yielded a common source, conveniently located on the next block, he tossed the dregs of his tea, and headed that way.  
The establishment didn't look any more or less disreputable than others of its kind. A quick probe of the employees in front confirmed that it was legitimate, clean and as pleasant as one supposed such a place could be. As he entered, he was pleased to note that the... receptionist, one might call her... greeted him casually, skillfully concealing her initial surprise at his chair-bound condition. On second thought, it might be his general demeanor and style of dress that she found so disconcerting -- especially when combined with his stated purpose.  
After much unnecessary flipping through portfolios (he knew just what he wanted), and tedious signing of waivers and showing of identifications, he was finally situated in the back room, and in strode a rather ferocious-looking woman. Oddly enough, he immediately felt at ease with her; perhaps because of her androgynous, flame-red haircut and her expansive, predominantly blue tattoos. He was struck with a pang of regret-laden fondness for Raven.  
She introduced herself rather perfunctorily, and rattled off yet another warning about cleanliness and risk and so forth, all while preparing her instruments. Snapping on gloves, the (really not Raven-like at all, not _really_ ) woman warned him, "Brace yourself -- this'll hurt."  
"Actually," he said with a half-smile, "it won't hurt a bit, I'm afraid." He indicated the wheelchair with a small motion of his hand, as she stared at him ( _not_ like Raven) without comprehension for just a moment, then took his meaning.  
"Well okay, then," she said -- he was strangely gratified to note that her outward lack of sympathy seemed to be reflecting an inward indifference -- and grasped him in what must have been a very firm grip.  
The nipple piercings, at least, did hurt.

 

He waited.  
He tended the wounds until they healed, and he waited.  
He admired the piercings abstractly; he touched them only when he washed, and he waited.  
He touched the steel rings on purpose, tapping and twisting them gently, and he waited.  
He grew bolder in his examination of the places where the metal intersected his body; he tested his limits, and he waited.  
He explored what kinds of pleasure he was capable of feeling, and what he might -- in theory -- be capable of giving, and he waited.  
He never gave up hope. He waited.

 

In his fantasies, Erik would come directly to his room; it would be nighttime, and nobody would disturb them. Of course, when Erik finally did come, it was through the front door (rather bombastically, really), and it was mid-morning. Nothing he could do about that, or about the crowd of frightened and defensive children surrounding them, except to hope that Erik still had some sense of discretion. Who was to say Erik wouldn't be appalled at what he had done to himself? or hadn't found another lover (not Raven _please not Raven_ ), and wanted nothing to do with him anymore? or simply didn't --  
"XAVIER! You can't hide here in your mansion any longer! It's time to pick a side!" The red of the helmet and cape clashed with the hall carpet.  
Erik was in full melodramatic swing, it seemed. He'd better stop mooning over the man before his woolgathering got him in trouble.  
"Erik. Please do come in. Would you like some tea?" His smile was more confident than he felt, but he gestured toward the drawing room, where some of the older students had hastily set out refreshments without even arguing with his mental commands, then ushered the less-trained students toward the back of the house.  
He could tell the moment Erik stopped posing and really looked at him. The part of his face which showed through the gap in the helmet blanched, and Erik's eyes widened briefly. So he _was_ appalled... But no, that wasn't what his face was showing at all. He... hadn't known? That utter _bitch,_ Frost, hadn't told him about the paralysis!  
He struggled to keep his expression serene as Erik walked toward him, seeming to lose inches off his stature with each step. Abruptly, he jerked his chair to the right and wheeled it into the drawing room, trusting that Erik would follow him, if not for the tea and biscuits, then for the privacy.  
"Charles..."  
Almost inaudible, but still unmistakably his given name. A thrill of hope shot through him, and he was glad he hadn't yet turned his chair, because his face would show too much. Mastering his turmoil, he waited for Erik to close the door before turning.  
"Charles, the chair? Your legs?" Erik's face through the helmet was still paler than it ought to be, but the rest of him looked as if he had regained some calm; he sat down gracefully on a wrought-iron footstool which swooped underneath him with impeccable timing.  
"It is what it is, old friend." He tried to convey the sense of acceptance he had been cultivating, but with the black hole where Erik's mind should be, he wasn't sure how it went over. Just as well, really -- Erik was probably the most difficult person for him to lie to, mind-to-mind, and his so-called acceptance was precarious at best.  
Musing on this, he almost didn't notice the moment when Erik started looking him over more thoroughly. Truly, knowing what he knew about how aware Erik always was of all the metal around him, he supposed it was only the shock of the wheelchair that had prevented Erik from noticing until now.  
This time, the face showing through the helmet was flushed, and the widening eyes were dilated. "Charles..." was breathed almost silently again, but with an entirely different inflection."What have you done to yourself?"  
He grinned more broadly than he had intended, from the sheer relief of Erik's obvious approval. "You like it?"  
 _"Like_ it --" Erik's hot gaze raked down his torso, seeming to pierce his clothing as much as the metal did his flesh. "But why? Why would you bother when I'm..."  
"Elsewhere." The grin slid off his face, but the light stayed in his eyes. "It makes me think of you. I always knew --" (he bit his lip) "-- I hoped you'd come. I waited and hoped."  
He watched as Erik hesitated, reaching toward the helmet one moment, then turning his face away another. Even without any ability to read Erik's mind, he was still certain he knew much of what the man was thinking. When he reached out his hand, he wasn't surprised that Erik took it -- only surprised at the hollow ache it gave him not to feel that connection on multiple levels.  
"If I -- this won't _change_ anything, Charles," Erik said haltingly, rising and pacing. "You know I -- damn it! You must --"  
"I know," he said calmly. "But can't we argue about it tomorrow, instead? And perhaps with less throwing, bending and crushing of household items than you had originally planned?"  
This time, Erik was unable to hide a grin, which quickly turned wry as he wrenched the helmet off, blissful as their minds tentatively touched, and then predatory as he stooped suddenly for a thorough kiss. "I can get us to the bedroom fast, if you can convince the children we're locked in here all afternoon!"  
"Perfect," he all but purred. "I long to see what you think of the possibilities afforded by my Prince Albert." Let alone the ladder, he thought to himself.  
Erik definitely blushed that time.


End file.
